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Updated: May 26, 2025
"It is the general. The general is dreaming!" She drew him into the dining-room, into a corner where they could no longer hear the moanings. But all the doors that communicated with the dining-room, the drawing-room and the sitting-room remained open behind him, by the secret precaution of Rouletabille. He waited while Matrena, whose breath he heard come hard, was a little behind.
Not worth speaking about; it's nothing." "And the general and ! Ah, that frightful night! And those two unfortunates who ?" "Nitchevo! Nitchevo!" "And poor Ermolai!" "Nitchevo! Nitchevo! It is nothing." Rouletabille looked him over.
The Nihilists watched everything he did and they did not smile, because men do not smile when death waits at the end of things, however foolish. Finally, Rouletabille spoke: "Messieurs," said he, his voice low and shaken, because he knew that now he touched the decisive minute, after which there could only be an irrevocable fate.
He told us he was aware of the efforts young Rouletabille was making to unravel the tangled skein of The Yellow Room mystery. He explained that Monsieur Stangerson had related to him all that had taken place in the inexplicable gallery.
"Oh, I have only two, and here they are," said she, drawing them from the toque she had been wearing and had thrown on the sofa when she re-entered the house. Rouletabille gave hers the same inspection. "Thanks. Here is your step-daughter." Natacha entered, flushed and smiling. "Ah, well," said she, quite breathless, "you may boast that I had to search for you.
"All that would be very beautiful and perhaps admirable," said he, more and more coldly, because he had entirely recovered himself, "if Natacha had not, herself, with her own hand, poisoned her father and her step-mother! always with arsenate of soda." "Oh, some of that had been left in the house," replied Rouletabille. "They had not given me all of it for the analysis after the first attempt.
I am no scavenger of odds and ends," he went on, with infinite contempt in his lower lip, "I am a theatrical reporter; and this evening I shall have to give a little account of the play at the Scala." "Get in, sir, please," said the Registrar. Rouletabille was already in the compartment. I went in after him and seated myself by his side. The Registrar followed and closed the carriage door.
"The matter is," replied Rouletabille, unable longer to conceal his anguish, "that the poison continues." "Does that astonish you?" returned Koupriane. "It doesn't me." Rouletabille looked at him and shook his head. His lips trembled as he said, "I know what you think. It is abominable. But the thing I have done certainly is more abominable still."
I, therefore, discreetly left them and, being curious to hear the evidence, returned to my seat in the court-room where the public plainly showed its lack of interest in what was going on in their impatience for Rouletabille's return at the appointed time. On the stroke of half-past six Joseph Rouletabille was again brought in.
"Monsieur President," replied Rouletabille, "I cannot answer that question before half-past six!" By this time the people in the court-room were beginning to believe in this new witness. They were amused by his melodramatic action in thus fixing the hour; but they seemed to have confidence in the outcome.
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